Live A Little
by latexidermist
Summary: Six adults. Seven kids. Three families. One hell of a ride. The Delaneys: Otto, Luann, Perseus, Pandora, Atlas The Morrows: Clay, Gemma, Jax, Thomas The Tragers: Tig, Colleen, Dawn, Fawn
1. Beautiful Girls

**Luann Delaney nee Ricotta  
Summary: **Colleen, Gemma and Luann discuss the bikers that they've been riding with.

Luann plops down unceremoniously on one of her new best friend's beds - not even bothering to avoid the feet of the twenty-year-old brunette sleeping there - watching the young eighteen-year-old apply the soft cherry chapstick to her plump lips.

She'd only joined their little group two weeks ago - after hooking up with Clay in the back of the nightclub where she sang - but Gemma Madock was a new force to be reckoned with. She was often at _someone's_ throat but Luann _had_ to say - she thoroughly enjoyed the other girls company. Gemma was about year younger than Luann and two years younger than their other friend, Colleen. Despite her age - she lacked the immaturity some of the other girls that had been picked up by the guys had displayed. And she had some modesty - even though Luann, the porn star, couldn't talk about modesty - considering she wore mostly black pants that were ripped at the knee and tight black spaghetti straps under plaid shirts.

Not to mention - she was fiery, funny as all get out, smart as hell and she had a rocking body that Clay seemed to enjoy keeping to himself at night.

"So… what are you and Mr. Morrow getting up to when you're sneaking into his room at all hours of the night?" Luann asks teasingly, draping herself over Colleen's - who'd just woken up - body. The dark-haired hippie that they'd picked up in Reno grins up at Gemma, who glances over her shoulder slyly.

"Ladies don't kiss and tell," she purrs, popping her lips and setting down her chapstick. Luann and Colleen both simultaneously quirk their eyebrows before leaning forward in bed - as if they don't possibly believe she wouldn't share all her juicy bedroom secrets. Laughing, Gemma crawls over to the bed and plops down with them, moving around so that she's comfortably against the headboard. "So what do you want to know first?"

"Is he big?" Luann blurts. "Like… are you dealing with a vienna sausage or a bratwurst?"

Colleen - who up until she joined the triage of bikers a few weeks ago, was about as virgin as virgins came - giggles and presses her hand over her mouth.

"He's fucking huge," Gemma exclaims, leaning forward a bit. "and he's so good at it too. I don't think the boys back in Charming even know what a female orgasm is. But Clay?"

The brunette gives a low whistle and collapses back against the headboard - panting with her tongue out like a dog and fanning herself with her hand. Luann and Colleen both burst into laughter, and Gemma joins them soon after.

While in the middle of their little bout of laughter, the door to the hotel room the three girls are sharing swings open. Immediately - and by sheer reflex - Gemma and Luann move to protect Collen's modesty - since the poor girl absolutely insisted on sleeping ass-naked. They're only mildly relieved to find it's only Piney - who seemed to not show any interest in getting with any of them - but the girl's respective defensive modes are immediately switched into.

"Ladies, sorry to interrupt," Piney coughs, immediately turning his head when he realizes that Colleen is nude. "Clay sent me to tell you that we're riding out in about twenty minutes - we're going back to the home base."

"Home base?" Colleen echoes tentatively.

"Yeah… Charming, California. It's where the rest of our crew has managed to set up our Clubhouse. If you wanna come, you can ride with us there and find your place in town. If not, we'll give you some cash so that you can take a bus to wherever you want and put the Sons of Anarchy in your past."

"Do you do this often?" Luann asks with a small pout. The question had been on her mind for a long time. In the month that she'd been riding with them, she'd noticed how easily these men let strange and - in Gemma's case - underage girls into their little circle, and she'd been around long enough to realize that certain girls with certain mindsets got kicked out. Girl's that held out too long got kicked out. Girl's that were too… pro-feminist got kicked out - it was a miracle that Colleen had made it this far, considering she was all about equality and these guys seemed all about the patriarchy.

Not that she was ungrateful of course. Luann had been working with some shitty, underground porn company in New Jersey run by an abusive producer-slash-director and all she'd had to show for it was a rundown apartment complex and an empty stomach. These guys - especially Otto, the sweet one that hadn't asked her to do anything she didn't want despite her job description - had basically saved her life. She owed them in a sense, and she wasn't about to kick up dust and complain.

She just needed to know if there was some sort of agenda with these guys, or if they really thought she and Gemma and Colleen were something special.

Piney falters in his answer, and Luann looks to her new best friends as he does. Gemma is trying to appear cool and nonchalant, but there's something in her eyes that says she's worried Clay is going to toss her away. Luann had picked up on that - the girl had serious abandonment issues.

Colleen is all out stressing - unlike Gemma or Luann, none of these bikers had shown interest in her. Was she just going back to their 'Clubhouse' to live as a hangaround the rest of her life, or was she too considered special?

"If you're asking if we pick up _girls_ often - the answer is yes, we do. We're men, out on the road, trying to do recruiting work for our still building MC, we get lonely," Colleen's breath hitches behind Luann, and she scoots in closer so that Piney doesn't see her break down with fear. "But you three are lucky - usually those girls are one night stands, hit and quit it's. Or at least for those two - I got a wife and newborn at home, I don't need a side piece. Otto and Clay? They're crazy about you two - the pornstar and the singer, I mean. I don't know much of why they're keeping you around, Hippie Girl."

Gemma narrows her eyes at the older man, and mutters something about him being a dick, but he simply shrugs as if he's unaffected.

"Clay things little miss punk rock is god's gift to badass women," Piney sighs, as if he can't believe that his words are actual truth. "and Otto actually thinks he can turn a hoe into a housewife. So if I were you? I'd go with it. Besides, what have you got to lose? You already ran away from all your responsibilities. I say stick with 'em, don't ask too many questions and who knows? You might be an old lady one day."

The girls are all speechless by the end of his little rant, so much so that he's able to slip away without them asking anymore questions. Colleen scrambles out of bed after a few minutes of them looking between themselves and the chipped wooden door - tugging on a pair of ripped jean shorts and a loose tank top.

"You think he's telling the truth?" Luann asks, coming to her senses while Colleen is slipping into her flip-flops. The hippie shrugs, grabbing her brush from the vanity where Gemma had been doing her make-up and raking it through her long, dark, tangled locks.

"I think so," Gemma admits sheepishly - it's the first time Luann has ever seen her look shy about anything. "I mean, I _know_ it sounds naive of me, but I really think that Clay at _least_ gives a shit. He may not care about anything except the pussy, but I think he'd at least shed a tear or two if something happened to me."

"Same with Otto," Colleen pipes up - looking away from the process of placing her cutesy flower crown over her head. The blonde looks up immediately - hurt and shock evident in her blue eyes. Immediately, the thought that Otto had been sharing his affections with one of her friends, _physically_ hurts her chest. "For you, Luann, damn. You haven't really had well… you _know_ with him-"

"I gave him a blowjob while you, Piney, Clay and Gemma went out drinking the other night," she points out.

"-but you haven't had _sex_ ," Gemma reminds impatiently, reaching for the black nail polish on the nightstand. "He hasn't penetrated your vagina, has he?"

The unspoken, ' _Like Clay has with me'_ hangs in the other - loud despite having never been uttered. Luann is tempted to scoff and respond to the unsaid superiority with, _Oh, good for you. You gave it up faster than the porn star did._

"Of course not," she sighs instead, taking the bottle from her friend and splaying the other girl's hand out onto her thigh. Gemma gives her a grateful look as she cracks open the bottle of polish and begins painting over the nails that had chipped since the last coat.

"And despite you not having sex with him - and him not really having any skills to miss if something were to happen to you - I really thinks Otto cares about you, Lu. So that explains you two - but why am I staying around? It doesn't make sense," Colleen pouts, finally turning to face them.

"Maybe they're saving you for someone," Gemma points out, switching hands so that Luann could fix her other one. "Maybe there's a cute guy back at their Clubhouse who asked them to bring home a sexy piece of tail like you."

"I will not be reduced to nothing but a _sexy piece of tail_ ," the older girl huffs. Both Luann and Gemma frown at her, and she sighs. "but that could very well be true."

"Right? So what do we do?" Luann asks. "If you guys aren't sticking around, I'm not either. We still don't know these guys very well - they could very well be taking us to their prisoner-slash-rape dungeon. And if I'm going to be someone's sex slave, I am not doing it alone."

"Agreed," Colleen nods, leaning against the vanity. Both turn to look at Gemma, who's begun inconspicuously playing with the list of bracelets covering her right wrist and looking intently at her nails. "Oh _c'mon_."

"I really like Clay," she whines. Luann drops her hand with a very pointed glare and Gemma huffs - pulling away. "So if you guys bail, I just can't promise that I will do the same. It's naive, but I feel something with him."

"Okay, we stay for now," Colleen says slowly. "but if things go awry, we bail. And Gemma, I cannot in good conscience leave you there if something is up with these guys. You're coming with us."

The brunette seems to actually consider telling the older girl to fuck off, before Luann leans over and clips her ear.

"Ow! Okay. We bail - I'll go with you. But can we give them a chance?"

"Taking a chance never hurt anybody," Luann grins.


	2. Party of the Century

**Colleen Trager nee Warren  
Summary:** Colleen deals with her drunk best friend, and maybe finds something she'd been looking for.

The party was obviously the party of the century, and it was rapidly becoming more and more so. It had taken weeks to plan it, and even longer to put it together. Colleen can't remember how many nights she stayed up with her best friends making snacks, or how many hours she sat with them on the phone - calling everyone on the Sons of Anarchy roster, and then some. But it _had_ to be grandeur. It had to be absolutely perfect - there was no way that anyone would settle for anything less.

After all - it _was_ the President's birthday.

Of course, Clay couldn't have known about it until the day came. No, Gemma was very adamant that the party remained a surprise. Clay hated for people to do things for him - it made him feel weak, she said. She had forced everyone into secrecy with a few favors and more than a few threats.

And all of their hard work paid off. When Clay had walked through the arch, and the literal hundred of Sons of Anarchy affiliates had jumped out of the shadows, yelling surprise at the top of their lungs - the look on his face had been absolutely worth it.

Now, the party was in full swing. Half-naked sweetbutts dance on the bar, moving their hips to the loud music and shaking their breasts in the faces of the drooling bikers. Hang arounds move through the crowd - for once, they're not sitting on their asses, drinking beers, and flirting with random whores - offering beers to anyone with an empty hand and making sure everyone knew that there was an abundance of food outside on the grill. Piney and a sleazy, younger guy by the name of Tig battle Gemma and Luann at a game of pool - although it's not much of a challenge. Piney and Tig are significantly more sober than the other girls, and definitely more about their wits.

Colleen watches fondly as Gemma knocks back another shot and goes to line up her cue. It's hilarious to witness the nineteen-year-old be so absolutely shit-faced, especially since she's trying to remain as serious and sober looking as possible.

Of course, Gemma misses the ball completely when she goes to take the shot. She's not angry about it either - she steps away from the pool table, giggling like a madman. Sighing, Colleen pushes off of the bar - where she'd been leaning and watching from afar - and heads over to where her friends are.

"Okay, Gem, let's go find Clay," she coos, taking the pool cue and handing it to Piney. The sleazy one, Tig, watches her with mild amusement as she wraps her arms around the girl's shoulder.

"N-no," Gemma stutters, clutching her best friends shirt. She pulls down on the neckline of Colleen's blouse - forcing the older girl to show much more cleavage than the shirt is intended - and sways unsteadily on her heels. "I'm good! I'm okay, let's do more shots."

"I think you should listen to your friend, sweetheart," Piney chuckles. "'Fore Tig here plays you into debt."

Gemma turns and sticks her tongue out at Piney, who rolls his eyes. Colleen groans and tries to remove her friends grasp on her blouse, but Gemma's grip is deadly.

"Go, Gem," Luann slurs. She's drunk, but not quite as messed up as their younger friend. She's still able to play coherently, which proves that she's better at holding her liquor. Colleen talks that up to years of porn premiere parties and simple teenage partying. "Go find Clay."

"Wha' 'bou tha game?" Gemma asks, gesturing wildly to the pool table. Now it's Luann's turn to roll her eyes, and she looks between Piney, Tig and her drunk best friend.

"Piney and I can play one-on-one," she announces. "Tig, you should go help Colleen find Clay."

Colleen groans loudly at the pornstar's words, not wanting anything to do with the sleazebag that was Alexander 'Tig' Trager. When she'd first arrived at the Clubhouse on the back of Piney's bike, he'd been a mega-douche to her - assuming that she was going to go around giving it up to any and everybody. It had almost been a year since, and he was still trying to get in her panties. She had never been so absolutely sick to her stomach when it came to a human being.

But, Tig is much stronger than her and can carry Gemma's weight much easier than she can. So, she'll have to make due.

Tig takes Gemma by the arm and slings her over his shoulder, muttering something about 'bitches who can't hold their whiskey'. Colleen glares hard at him, and he shrugs nonchalantly.

Gemma giggles wildly and squeals at the sudden motion, before going unnaturally quiet.

"I swear to god, Gemma. If you vomit on me, I will murder you," Tig growls, when he hears her gagging. Colleen punches the arm that isn't holding her best friend.

"You will do no such thing," she snaps. Now it's Tigs turn to glare at her. Rolling her eyes, Colleen looks around. The Clubhouse is packed - she doesn't spot the curly tendrils of Clay's blonde hair anywhere. "Where'd you last see him?"

"I dunno. Outside, I think. Yeah, he was talking to SAMYORK," Tig nods. "Let's hurry up and find him. I'm not getting puked on by his drunk girlfriend."

Colleen hates to admit it, but she agrees with Tig on that one. She loved Gemma to death, but if the freshly blonde-streaked brunette puked on her, she would have a cow. As much as Colleen hated to admit it, even though she was in-touch with her nature, she _loathed_ to be dirty.

They push through the crowds of people as quickly as they can, and it's almost a breath of fresh air when they finally step outside. Inside it's stuffy and packed with bodies, so the heat was almost sweltering. But outside it's cooler and there's a lot less people.

Tig sets Gemma down as soon as they're outside, and his eyes scan the crowds for Clay. She spots him before Colleen or Tig do, and she quickly stumbles towards him. He's sitting at a table by the bikes, talking to a pretty young redheaded girl and what appears to be her boyfriend.

Colleen and Tig watch as Clay accepts Gemma into his lap. His arms wrap around her waist and his chin rests on his shoulders as she talks animatedly about something or another. It's extremely obvious that she's drunk and babbling unintelligibly, because the redhead and her boyfriend are staring at the couple weirdly, but Clay seems to understand everything leaving her mouth. He hangs onto every word, nodding along and adding input where required.

There's such obvious love in his eyes, too. And despite her inebriation, it's obvious that Gemma loves him too. From the way she leans comfortably into his embrace down to the way she smiles when _he's_ talking.

It takes a long time for Colleen to realize that she's not the only one admiring their relationship.

When she finally snaps out of her awkward staring, she notices that Tig is looking too. Somewhere between where they stand and the pool table, he'd managed to snag a beer, but it's left untouched in his right fist - seeing as he seems to be stuck in some sort of trace. There's this weird faraway look in his blue eyes, and an expression that she doesn't see on his face very often - _want_.

For the nine months that Colleen had been around, she'd noticed that Tig got handed everything he ever wanted on a silver platter. Pussy? He got it. Money? There was never a shortage of it, between the gun running and the automotive repair shop. Status? He was the goddamned Sgt-at-Arms, of course he had status. He had an empire, and she'd never seen him want for anything.

But watching him watch the Queen and King of SAMCRO, she finally sees a little bit of humbling in him. He wanted someone to love, too. Someone that he could hold in his lap the way Clay held Gemma, and someone that he could kiss breathless the way Otto kissed Luann. He envied what his brothers had and wanted the romance that he hadn't been able to acquire.

And Colleen has to admit - she relates. There had been many a time where she, Gemma and Luann were doing something and one of the girls casually mentioned some cute thing their significant other did and it hurt. There had been an uncountable amount of times when one of the guys grabbed one of her best friends and pulled them in for some passionate kiss - a kiss that wasn't just about putting your lips against another person's, but was about love and a close emotional bond - and Colleen had forced herself to awkwardly look away.

She realizes that she wants what her friends have in the same way that Tig does, and it makes her actually pity him for once.

Sighing - and unable to believe that she was actually showing mercy on this sleazebag - Colleen nudges him with her elbow.

"You want that too, huh?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the couple. Tig stares at the duo for a bit longer before tearing his eyes away and glancing to her.

"It's all I ever want," he admits, toeing the dirt with the tip of his boot. It's the first time she's ever seen him be awkward, and it's - painstakingly yet admittedly - kind of cute. "It's all _any_ solid member wants. A good old lady to cherish, and keep by their side. Someone to be _their_ queen."

"Well, you don't know how to talk to women. You know how to talk to whores, sluts, sweetbutts, and croweaters, and you can't turn a hoe into a housewife," Colleen snorts. Tig chuckles and brings the beer to his mouth - taking a mouthful before quirking his eyebrow for her to continue. "Old ladies aren't called 'ladies' for no reason Tig. You can't talk to a lady the way you've been talking to them."

"So what do you say I do?" he asks. Colleen shrugs, a teasing smile on her lips as she takes the beer bottle from his fingers.

"Act like a man, think like a lady," she says, before sidling back into the Clubhouse.


	3. Holy Matrimony

**Alexander 'Tig' Trager  
Summary: **This fireball of a woman, this majestic creature, was actually going to be his wife.  
It's all so surreal.

Tig stares at himself in the mirror, his head tilted slightly to the side. He examines himself from head-to-toe - from the carefully shined boots to the creased black slacks, to the crisp black button-up and finally the stupid gold fucking bow that just wouldn't sit _straight_. With a frustrated growl, he straightens out his bow for the umpteenth time and tilts his head to the other side. He snarls at the damn thing and readjusts it before repeating the process all over again.

Okay, maybe it _wasn't_ the bow pissing him off. Maybe he was nervous and _that_ was why he was so frustrated. No, he was _definitely_ nervous - no 'maybe' about it. He wouldn't admit it to a soul, and if anyone accused him of it, he'd rip their beating heart out through their throat. But here, alone in his dressing room, he was able to admit - at least to himself - that he was worried. More than that, he was _scared_.

For _years_ he had been averse to settling down. To allowing himself to be pussywhipped by some nagging old bitch that was just gonna ruin his life with babies and shit _anyways_. For years he'd decided he'd play by his _own_ rules - put his dick in whatever he wanted to put his dick in and stay out however late he wanted and treat a woman however he wanted to treat her. He'd laughed in the faces of his friends who'd settled down with wives and houses and babies, he'd mocked and taunted them with his freedom. Showed off his bare ring finger with a smug smirk as he took two, three, _four_ different girls back into his bedroom at a time. And it had been _glorious_.

Or at least it had. Until he met _her_. She - along with the two other girls - had come back with Clay, Otto and Piney from Nevada. Clay and Otto had been intent on finding themselves a good old lady, on knocking a chick up so that she wouldn't have any choice but to marry him. They'd wanted a heir so badly back then, so desperately wanted a little tike running around - neither been cut out for the single life. One out of the triage of girls, the badass rebel runaway, had immediately become taken with Clay. And it'd taken a few more months, but at some point, another one was sneaking out of Otto's room more often than not and eventually, got the title of old lady over her head.

But the real special one, the one that had basically become a hang around to the other guys? _She_ had shaken her head and turned her nose up at all of 'em - refusing to even give him a second glance unless he courted her properly and treated her with goddamned respect she _deserved_. A real fucking princess. No… a fucking _Queen_.

By that point, Clay and Otto had gotten what - and who - they wanted and the lovely princess had been cast aside.

That's when she'd met Tig. At a party, celebrating Clay's twenty-sixth birthday. He'd approached her before in attempt to get an easy lay - all goofy dimpled grins and shining blue eyes. But unlike the tramps that made it easy and fell head over heels for him with a smile, she made him work for it. He tried again - and that time, he tried to show her that he meant it. But once more, she evaded his grasp - giving him advice on picking up other girls instead of simply allowing him to take _her_ on a date.

At first, he'd shrugged and moved on - found some sleazy whore that was willing to do what she wasn't. But then he realized it wasn't the same - he needed to find some _new_ pussy, something that _he_ could get to first. So he tried again - and yet again, he was turned down. This went on for awhile. Each time he tried, she'd shoot him down with a glare and a middle finger. And much to his dismay, that had kept him coming _back_.

He wasn't going to give up until she spread her legs for him and she wasn't going to do that until he treated her like a human being and not some sort of conquest. So he made a silent vow to get into her pants - no matter how long or _what_ it took. Turns out, it took six months worth of dates, but it was worth it.

He was already crushing hard on her just by _dating_ , but that first night they laid together… it had been _mindblowing_. _Extraordinary_. Better than anything he'd ever had before. And although he'd accomplished his goal, he didn't stop going to her. He didn't stop seeking her out at parties or talking to her on the phone until sunrise or taking her out on Friday and Saturday nights instead of fucking pointless whores.

At some point, Tig had fallen in love with her. And - _miraculously_ \- she'd fallen in love with him, too.

A year following the first time they had sex - and a year and half following their first date - Tig proposed to her. It was informal as hell - they were lying in bed, bathed in the post-coital glow of morning sex, and he'd mindlessly asked if she wanted to be an old lady. She was shocked at first, thought he was joking with her. Alexander 'Tig' Trager did _not_ get married - hell, she was surprised they'd managed to keep a steady relationship for that long. But when she'd realized how serious he was…

Now here he was, six months following the proposal - two years following their first date - trying to adjust a _stupid_ fucking bow.

"It would probably straighten out if you kept your _head_ straight, jackass," a warm voice says from behind him. Tig whips around to find Clay and Otto leaning in the doorway, an amused smirk on Clay's lips and a soft smile on Otto's. He glares hard at the other men and turns back around to the mirror. "You look fine, Tig."

"I know I do," Tig says smugly. Keeping Clay's advice in mind, he straightens his head at the same time he straightens his bow and finds that it becomes perfection. Giving himself another cocky smile in the mirror, he grabs his cut and begins pulling it on. "Have either of you seen her?"

"Yeah. Gem and Lu were helping her with her tiara last time I saw. She was crying, but don't tell her I told you," Otto replies with a shrug.

"Is she…?" Tig's nerves are suddenly back, and he mindlessly adjusts his cut on his shoulders. Was she thinking about backing out? Was she getting cold feet? Was she maybe realizing he wasn't good enough for her?

Tig knew he didn't deserve someone as graceful, elegant, poised and beautiful as a woman like her. He didn't deserve the small smiles she gave him whenever he complimented her, he didn't deserve the light-hearted banter they traded, he didn't deserve to know her little quirks and insecurities, he didn't deserve to hold her when she was vulnerable and admire her when she was strong. He didn't deserve to able to call her his girlfriend, _or_ his fiancee, _or_ his wife.

He had just hoped _she_ never figured that out.

"Don't worry, Trager. She's _excited,_ and they're tears of _joy_. And she's drop dead- _fucking_ -gorgeous, by the way," Otto assures.

Tig gives them both a satisfactory, smug grin. "Yeah, I know. Unlike _you_ jackasses, _I_ know how to pick women."

Otto gives a bark of laughter at that, and Clay rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"Come on, asshole. Let's get you married."

Although Colleen had _tried_ to distance herself from her family, her parents had insisted on at least paying for and attending the wedding. This meant her entire family would be in attendance - her _entire_ family. Tig nor Colleen knew how they found out about the engagement, but they did, and he supposes it wasn't _such_ a bad thing. He could put up with the angry slurs that came from her uncles and father if it allowed his girl to have a fairytale wedding that he wouldn't have been able to give to her without some help.

The wedding ceremony is held on a large daise surrounded by boulders on a beach. The rocks keep the sun out of the eyes of the guests, and provide a romantic backdrop. The entire wedding design is black and gold - much to Vivienne Warren's dismay, who would rather her daughter have a traditional white wedding in a Chapel - to the point where even the guests are wearing all gold. The only ones besides Tig permitted black are the bridesmaids and the members of the Sons of Anarchy that weren't groomsmen.

It's a bit weird looking out on the sea of guests. One side of pure gold and the other side nothing but charcoal black. It's almost a bit of poetic justice - showing just what different sides of the fence he and Colleen had originated from.

Standing at the alter, Tig can't help but feel a sharp twinge of loneliness. With Colleen's side of the crowd is filled to the brim with brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers and friends and the only ones sitting on the his side are from the Sons… it makes him feel a bit alone in the world. A part of him - the small, sad lonely little boy part - wishes his family were here to see this. _His_ brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. Not his parents though - they could have dropped dead by now for all he cared. He just wants the ones he actually _cares_ about to see him marry off to the woman he loves.

The ceremony doesn't begin until a _very_ certain time - although this is per Tig's request and not Colleen's. He had this insane - slightly cheesy, slightly idiotic - idea to wait until the sun was setting to start the ceremony, wanting everything about this day to be magical for her. After all, he was marrying the woman he loved in front of her entire family and all of his friends. He wanted to do at least _this_ right - if he could do nothing else.

But when it finally _does_ begin, his heart stops and drops down to the pit of his toes. The trademark beginning keys of 'here comes the bride' seem to echo like a shot from a gun, hushing the chattering audience. Tig straightens his back and clasps both hands firmly in front of him, doing his best to seem the strong man that he'll be for Colleen for the duration of their marriage. And _maybe_ trying to show her family he _could_ have some decorum about him and he wasn't always going to act like some raunchy savage.

The decorators Vivienne and Luis hired had set up the aisle so that one would have to climb the steps - designed like jagged rocks - to get to the daise. This way, Tig can't see the entire precessional until it's time - and this irks him. A part of him wishes they'd had the ceremony on the beach itself so that he wouldn't have to anticipate anything - he could see everything coming from afar and brace himself for it.

The first duo to climb the stairs is Chibs and his wife, Kerrianne. Chibs is wearing all gold with a black bowtie and his cut on his back, and Kerrianne is wearing a short black dress with a gold trimming around the Queen Anne neckline. It's the most elegant Tig has ever seen the man dress, and it's a bit shocking to see. His beard has been finely trimmed down and his eyes aren't bloodshot with alcohol for once. And he smells like cologne, not like whiskey and cigars. Kerrianne is just as gorgeous - her wild mane of curls left alone sans a simple gold rose right above her ear.

When they arrive at the alter, Chibs claps Tig hard on the shoulder and Kerrianne gives him a kiss on the cheek before going to stand at the ends.

Next out is Bobby and his wife, Precious - managing to be civil for the sake of the wedding. For the first time that Tig has ever seen, they're both smiling warmly and she's leaning against his arm like he's a lifeline. It's the first time he's seen them act like a couple and not like they're at war. They repeat the same process that Chibs and Kerrianne did - a kiss on the cheek from Precious and a hard shoulder clap from Bobby.

Uncle Tom and a croweater are out next. The croweater - Tig thinks she said her name was Kayla - seems to be enjoying the copious amounts of attention she's receiving from a Son, and Uncle Tom just looks happy that Tig is settling down. He had a bad history with sleeping around with croweaters, and he didn't want Tig to suffer from the same STD's he suffered from. Kimberly gives Tig another kiss on the cheek, and Uncle Tom punches him hard in the chest instead of clapping him on the shoulder.

Wally and another croweater come out next, followed by Chico and a woman who Tig thinks is his cousin. Otto and his new wife, Luann succeed them. Unlike those preceding him, Otto doesn't punch Tig, nor does he give him a clap on the shoulder - he pulls him in for a crushing hug.

"Treat 'er well, man. My wife likes this one," he whispers in his ear. Tig gives a solemn nod, and they pat each other on the back good naturedly before Otto goes to stand in front of Chico. Luann gives Tig the trademark kiss on the cheek before going to stand in front of Chico's cousin.

Next is Piney and his wife, Mary. She's beautiful - even more so in the bridesmaid dress - and her cheeks are rosy and warm. When Tig first met her, he'd been skeptical - she was so young and so naive. But she had been knocked up, so they'd come to accept her as an old lady - and she did well in the role. Piney takes his time coming down the aisle, making sure to lock eyes with Tig and keep them there. When they both reach the altar, Mary gives him a dainty hug and Piney gives him a harsh one.

"Take care of her. Don't fuck it up, Alexander." It's the first time Tig has ever heard Piney use his real name, so he takes the instruction very seriously. He didn't intend to fuck it up - he loved Colleen, he was _in love_ with Colleen. He wanted nothing more than for her to always be happy and always live in comfort.

Lastly, Clay and Gemma ascend the stairs. They look so perfect next to each other - like they could mold together right there and be happy for their rest of their lives. It's obvious that soon it'll be Clay standing in Tig's spot, awaiting his love - and he honestly can't wait for the day. Clay is the only groomsmen wearing a mixture of black and gold - his slacks are black, but his shirt is gold and his bow is black. Gemma wears an inverse version of the other bridesmaids dresses - a black dress with a gold trimming around the neckline.

They both pause at the altar, like the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Gemma hugs Tig and kisses his forehead, gives him a warm motherly smile - despite being so young - that gives him a boost of confidence. Clay ruffles his best friends curls before giving him a brotherly hug. Neither of them say a word - their actions say everything.

Gemma takes her spot in front of Mary, and Clay his in front of Piney. He places a comforting hand on Tig's shoulder and squeezes.

 _You're doing fine, brother,_ the gesture says. _Don't worry._

Finally, after what feels like forever, the quiet song gets louder and everyone in the audience stands. Tig quickly arranges anything that could be out of place - adjusts his bowtie, runs his fingers through his hair, readjusts his cut - before turning to recieve his wife.

A girl that was formally introduced to Tig as her niece skips down the aisle in a pristine gold dress, tossing black rose petals on the gold carpet. She's a cute kid and holds such a stark resemblance to Colleen that he wonders if she looked like that at that age.

He sees the black tiara and the blue streaks in her hair before he sees her. But then when he does see her…

If Tig thought his heart stopped, it picks up speed rapidly now - pounding against his rib cage as if trying to jump out and go to her.

Her wedding gown is form-fitting and floor length. It's extremely fancy - and extremely expensive looking - with shining rhinestones against black silk fabric. It has a decolletage neckline on the bodice, which is made out of what looks to be a black velvet. It's making her breasts look as if they're about to spill out of the dress and punctuating the fresh tattoo of his name on her left breast. The waist pulls in tight, accentuating the curves of her body. Tig thinks she might be wearing a corset beneath. The bodice dips into the skirt, which flows like water down to the floor. The skirt of the dress is a different fabric than the bodice - made of silk.

Colleen's makeup looks to be expertly done - probably done by Luann - with full red lips - that he just wants to kiss for days - and smoky dark eyes. Her mint green eyes are hidden under a veil of thick eyelashes, but he can tell that they're watering because they look red.

Her blue and black hair has been pulled back and pinned up into an elegant updo, and if Tig squints he could probably see gold glitter in it. A few curls have slipped from the updo - or been purposely left down - and frame her face.

The guys were right. She's drop dead-fucking-gorgeous.

Luis walks her down the aisle, everything the proud father he should be. His green eyes shine with tears - much like his daughter's - and he's practically beaming. He had been averse to Tig marrying his child - and he still is - but he seems to be enjoying being a part of his daughter's wedding. For a man that had put up _such_ a fit - pleading with her to change her mind, to marry the nice construction boy, to separate herself from this barbarian while she could - he has a pretty big smile to show off.

When Luis and Colleen arrive at the altar, the minister - Vivienne's idea - clears his throat and begins.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Alexander Trager and Colleen Warren in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, that is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly. Into this estate these two persons present come now to be joined. If any one can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

The crowd - who had taken their seats when Colleen reached the altar - all look around. Mostly the Sons look to her side of the family, expecting some objection that could possibly ruin the wedding. It was no secret what the brothers did to family members that tried to separate old ladies from their old men - the family members weren't killed, but they were never heard from again. Vivienne, who sits in the front next to Colleen's youngest, opens her mouth - seemingly ready to take the risk. But Harold - her little brother - places his hand on her knee and gives a slight shake of his head, so she slams it closed with a huff. Tig pretends he doesn't hear the sigh of relief escape Colleen's lips.

"Very well. Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" the Minister asks, looking expectantly to Luis.

"My wife and I do," he says, smiling at his daughter. He gives Colleen a gentle kiss on the cheek and allows her to join her husband under the arc. Tig takes her hands in his and gives her a crooked grin.

"Hey you," he whispers.

"Hey yourself," she replies, her voice thick with tears. Tig gives her hands a reassuring squeeze, and his grin broadens when she squeezes back.

"Alexander, would you repeat after me?" the Minister asks. Tig gives a curt nod. "I, Alexander Trager, take thee, Colleen Warren, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish, 'til death do us part.

Tig repeats the vows firmly, trying to make them sound as sincere as possible and himself sound serious as he can while grinning like a dope. He did mean every word - he didn't plan on ever leaving Colleen's side. Not until the very last breath left his body, or she herself decided that he wasn't worthy of her anymore.

"Now your turn, Colleen."

"I, Colleen Warren, take thee, Alexander Trager to be my wedded husband, to have and

to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish, 'til death do us part," she says.

Tig's smiling so much his cheeks are starting to ache, but he's unable to stop himself from grinning. This was _really_ happening. This fireball of a woman, this beautiful, majestic creature, was _actually_ going to be _his_ wife. He's dumbfounded, honestly - this time three years ago, he was some Prospect who had vowed never to have an old lady or any heirs. And now here he was - a patched in brother, a sergeant at arms, about to receive his fiancee as his old lady. It's all a bit surreal, and thinking about it chokes him up too.

"May I have the rings?" the Minister asks. Clay steps forward then, fishing the two rings out of his pocket. They're both extremely expensive and well thought out - Tig having gone with Colleen's sister to choose them. Colleen's band is gold and Tig's is black, although the rock that sits on hers is of the deepest ebony he could find and it's the biggest one that had been in the case. Tig's band is made of black diamonds with a gold rim around them. Black and gold - their respective favorite colors.

"The wedding ring is the outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible spiritual bond which unites two loyal hearts in endless love. It is a seal of the vows Alexander and Colleen have made to one another. May she and he, who give them, and who wear these rings, live together in unity, love and happiness for the rest of their lives. Now, Alexander, will you repeat after me?"

"Actually, Minister, if you don't mind. We have some traditional vows of our own," Tig interrupts. The Minister frowns and looks down at his bible - probably where some notecards from her parents are - before giving an unprofessional shrug and waving his hand for the couple to go ahead. Tig can practically _see_ Vivienne's scoff.

Colleen inhales deeply before beginning - sliding his ring carefully onto his ring finger. "With this ring, I vow my undying love and everything else that comes with it. I promise to always be a loving and faithful wife and old lady."

Tig winks at her and the girls behind her cheer - some having said the vows themselves, some hoping to say them one day. He takes her ring and slides it onto her ring finger, careful not to chip her perfectly manicured nails.

"With this ring, I vow my love. And I promise always to cherish and protect you. And," he breaks off, looking around at the crowd cockily. The Sons join in with him on the following vows. "to treat you as good as my leather and ride you as much as my Harley."

This time the members of the Sons of Anarchy break out into cheers - whooping, hollering, and wolf whistling like animals. Behind him, Clay gives his shoulder a hard slap and shakes him a bit. Colleen laughs, tossing her head back and giving an unladylike guffaw.

Her side of the family remains stoic. With pursed lips - or scowls - and narrowed eyes. Her mother's nose is wrinkled with disgust at the insinuation, and her father just seems to dislike the distastefulness of it. Even her siblings cringe, obviously thinking the same thing his parents were thinking - not in public. Some people just didn't know how to have fun and loosen up.

"Then by the power invested in me by the state of California, I know pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride," the Minister says, a smile threatening to tug at his own lips. Although, he barely manages to finish the sentence before Colleen is curling her fingers around the edges of Tig's cut and pulling him down to kiss her.

Tig's arms wrap around her waist and she hooks her arms around his neck. He runs his tongue along her bottom lip, probably scrubbing away some of her sticky lipstick, and her lips part involuntarily to allow him entrance. The kiss is deep and passionate and should have _probably_ been saved for the bedroom, but they're married and they're happy and they couldn't give an honest fuck would anyone else thinks.

The entire audience breaks out into applause - although, Tig's side of the room is much more thunderous, excited, and happy. More whistles and catcalls from the Sons - all happy to see a brother and his old lady legally united. Colleen's side of the room claps respectfully and kindly, although not joyfully. Colleen's brother seems to be the only one simply happy to see his sister happy, clapping wildly and whistling like he's a son.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Trager!"


	4. Announcements pt I

**Gemma Morrow nee Madock  
Summary: **Apparently, Gemma has an announcement to make. And it's a big one.  
Ladies and gentlemen, you're gonna want to take a seat.

Gemma wakes up early one Saturday morning, tucked tightly under her husband's tight grip and woken by the sudden urge to vomit. Tossing Clay's arm and the blankets off of her, she rushes as quickly as possible to the washroom adjoining their bedroom. She barely has time to lift the toilet seat before the contents of her stomach are burning their way back up her throat - different concoctions of alcohol and bar pretzels. Sometime after she makes it into the bathroom, she feels the tendrils of her hair leave the nape of her neck and Clay's fingers tickle at the skin there. His other hand rubs soothing circles into her back, his way of telling her that he's there for her.

Gemma dry heaves for a little while after her stomach is emptied, before slumping against Clay's warm chest and trying to catch her breath. Her husband's free arm encircles her waist and he shifts them both so that his back is against the bathtub and she's resting between his legs. The sound of the toilet flushing is distant and drowned out in Gemma's ears, but she watches with half-lidded eyes as the mess of her stomach disappears. She can feel an oncoming migraine and exhaustion begins to hit her in waves - the middle of the night grog paired with the retching was beginning to wear it's effect.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, finally releasing her hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. She nods and hums lightly as he brushes her bangs away from her eyes - the tenderness rare and very welcome. "What was all that?"

"I don't know," Gemma admits truthfully. The vomiting was new - she hadn't been throwing up before tonight. "Wasn't the liquor - I didn't drink _that_ much. Maybe it's me being sick to my stomach with worry over _you_."

She's referring to the shit with the Mayans. Clay was gone from the house more often than not, and when he did manage to find time to come back to the house, he was almost always covered in blood - it was a toss-up on whether or not it'd be his. It had been alright - nothing that she wasn't used to - until Tig and Otto rung her up early one morning and told her to meet them at St. Thomas. Clay had a slug in his left thigh and could've bled out on the operating table if they hadn't gotten him to the hospital when they did.

Heat was coming down hard on the Club, and her small little family had been facing the consequences of it.

"I'll be fine, babe. I always am," he assures, drawing her away from her thoughts. She nods her head - not in the mood to rekindle the argument they had earlier about this very topic, and tired from draining her stomach. She's tempted to fall asleep there, sitting against her husband's chest on the floor of their bathroom. But he shakes her shoulder eventually, startling her from dozing off. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah," she replies, although she's not quite sure.

"Wash your mouth out with water - you don't want that gross taste in your mouth when you wake up," Clay says, patting her thigh gently. Gemma remains pressed against his chest for a few more moments before standing and going to the sink to do as told. The water washes the acidic taste of bile from her mouth, and is cooling when she splashes it against her face. It makes her feel much better than she did originally.

Clay disappears from the bathroom for a bit while she's at the sink, but then returns with one of his shirts. She opens her mouth with confusion, but then looks down at her negligee and finds that some vomit had made it's way down the bosom of it. She wrinkles her nose with disgust and accepts the shirt from his fingers.

Once freshly changed into his shirt and back in bed, Gemma and Clay curl against each other - Gemma being the little spoon and Clay being the big one. Subconsciously, Clay laces their fingers together over her stomach and Gemma runs her thumb over the back of his hand.

"I want you to go to the doctor tomorrow," he says after a while of laying in silence. "Make sure it's not the flu or some sort of stomach virus. Could even be food poisoning."

"I'm fine," Gemma snaps. "and you worry too much. I'm fine, really, baby. And I promise, I'll take a load off tomorrow. I'll stay in and rest."

"You promise?"

"I swear it," she vows, giving his hand a light squeeze.

-x-

Of course, Gemma should never trust Clay to leave well enough alone - he was too involved, and he worried too much about her. He leaves early that morning after receiving a call about a shootout that happened by the center of the city, so she doesn't have to worry about him shadowing her for the rest of the day. But she should've known he'd send someone over to check up on her - it doesn't take long for her to be joined by company.

Gemma has her head in the toilet when Colleen and Luann arrive, purging from her stomach the last of the cold cereal and whiskey combination that had been her breakfast. They call her name a couple of times, and then realizing where she must be, make a beeline for the bedroom.

As expected, both women find her crouched over the toilet, breathing hard and trying to regain her energy. She's trembling all over by the time she flushes and hugs herself, pressing her back against the bathtub. They can't help but pity her for a moment - sitting there, tears streaming down her cheeks, trying to compose herself enough to get back up.

"How many times since he left this morning?" Colleen asks, leaning in the doorway. Gemma looks up at her, her wide hazel eyes still red with tears and shakes her head.

"Twice. I can't keep anything down. It's bullshit," she sighs, running a trembling hand through her blonde and black hair. Luann looks around the bathroom before glancing warily back at her best friend, her ice blue eyes serious and determined. "No, Lu. I know what you're thinking."

"Maybe there's something wrong-"

"Damnit, Luann, I said _no_!" Gemma snaps. Luann sobers up even more at the use of her entire name - she only used their entire names when she was pissed. But you know what? They were pissed too. They were pissed that she could be so callous about her health that she'd refuse treatment before going to see somebody that could help her.

"And _I_ said you're going," Luann fires back. Colleen glances between the two of them - already sensing what's about to happen - before beginning to back away. Gemma glares hard at her best friend and stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. A challenge. Alright then, she wanted to fight dirty - they could fight dirty. "If we have to drag you by your ankles and _walk_ all the way to the doctors, you're _going_ to the hospital. I don't care what you think you need."

Luann takes a step towards her, and Gemma instinctively pushes her back against the tub. As if the tub will suddenly move to accommodate her choice of distance.

"Luann Delaney if you so much as brush your fingers against me, I _will_ rip those money-making tits off your chest," she growls. Luann rolls her eyes and lurches forward, grabbing her by her bicep and yanking her up. Gemma tries to claw at her face and Luann stealthily moves her head away, but Gemma takes the distraction to snatch away her other arm and punch her in the nose. This forces Luann to release her, and she scurries past her to the bedroom - plopping with smug satisfaction on the bed.

"Damnit, Gemma. I'm trying to help you," Luann grunts from the bathroom floor, hands clutched on around her nose - the bridge pinched between her index finger and her thumb, her head tilted back to stop the bleeding. She looks around, and is startled to find Colleen gone - nowhere to be seen.

"I know you are, darling," she says. The sudden movement made her dizzy, so she curls on her side and watches her best friend with doe-like eyes. "But you know how I feel about hospitals."

She does. Gemma watched her brother die in a hospital bed, followed by her mother. She'd watched countless SAMCRO members be carried into the emergency room - bullets lodged in some various body part, groaning and begging for morphine. Only to be carried out in body bags because there was nothing St. Thomas' shitty employees could do - they weren't advanced enough for some of the shit the boys had needed then. She was _not_ going to a hospital. In Gemma's slightly twisted mind, hospitals weren't associated with healing. They were associated with death.

"You probably have the stomach flu or maybe even food poisoning. Not some _disease_. Going to get checked out won't be the end of the world," Colleen pipes up. She looks up from the other side of the bed - her eyes slightly widened. She'd ran for cover when they started fighting - of course, she would evacuate the line of fire. Gemma rolls her eyes. They were going to persist at this and so would she until they ended up at a stalemate. Either that or one of them won.

"You're right. It's not. Except for when it _could_ be." Luann looks at her then, understanding slowly filling her blue eyes. _Oh_. That's why she was so afraid to go to the doctor. She was afraid they would tell her something fatal - like she had stomach cancer and three months to live or some shit like that. She was afraid that going to the doctors would lead to her own demise.

"Babe…"

"Don't," she sighs. "Just… don't. You're right. It's just a stomach flu or food poisoning. Or some shit like that. Can we leave it there?"

"If it is… _something_. Would you really rather not know?" Colleen asks. Gemma swallows hard. She had her there. She _would_ rather know. She wouldn't treat it of course - Unser's dad had cancer and all he did was scream 'sick!' everywhere he went. She didn't want to be bald and frail and sick-looking. She'd _just_ want to know. So she could tie up any loose ends and then just await things peacefully.

"Once again, you're right," she exhales. "Fine. I will go to the doctor. But we do it today and all shit is off. Before, during and after. No leaving my side, girls. I mean it - no porn shoots or whatever the fuck you do in your free time Col. If I die in there and you aren't there with me, I'm coming back to haunt you. And SAMCRO."

"You mean it?" Colleen drawls. Gemma barks out a laugh and Luann snickers quietly on the bathroom floor. "We're not leavin' you Gem. We're not married, but we're besties until death does us part."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, death might come quicker than expected."

"Stop it!"

Once at the doctor's, things go eerily solemn. No light-hearted banter, no prodding, nothing. They all make a quick stop to the emergency room - which is, unsurprisingly empty - where they explain Gemma's situation and simultaneously get Luann's nose treated.

Gemma is then lead to a small room - alone, much to her obvious dismay - where she has a series of strange tests done on her and asked quite a few questions - some of which even _she_ doesn't know the answer to. Each test makes her more and more nervous and each question puts that little inkling of fear into her chest. By the time Luann and Colleen are allowed to wait with her on the results, she's bristling with nerves and ready to jump out of her skin.

While they wait for the doctor, Gemma sits impatiently on the awkward little bed, cringing at the uncomfortable paper beneath her ass, and quietly reads the anatomy poster on the wall. Luann files at her nails, making sure they're catlike and painstakingly sharp as she does. Colleen seems to be taken with one of the magazines on the rack, humming lightly to herself as she reads the latest Hollywood gossip.

Eventually, after what feels like eons but is really only an hour and a half, the doctor finally slips into the room. She's cute - short, blonde, wide green eyes hidden behind a pair of bifocals. Despite her being adorable, she has something stern and motherlike about her - so Luann guesses she couldn't be much older than thirty, maybe thirty-five tops. The younger blonde briefly wonders how hot of a pornstar she'd be, and the thought has her snickering quietly to herself.

"Alright, Mrs. Morrow, sorry for the long wait. I was waiting to receive the test results before I came in," the doctor says, flipping through her paperwork. "I'm Dr. Thoms, and I'll be handling your case."

"My case of what?" Gemma asks. She blindly palms around for one of her friend's hand until Luann offers hers up to her - leaning awkwardly across just to hold her friend's hand. It kills her back to stretch like that, and she considers scooting her chair closer to the bed, but then Gemma gives her a death grip and all she's thinking about is when it'll be the right time to let go.

"You didn't know? You're about six weeks in."

"What? Six weeks into _what_?" Gemma snaps, obviously done with the doctor beating around the bush. Doctor Thoms beams excitedly and leans against the door. All three women watch her lips as she counts to ten before exhaling deeply, her smile not once wavering. Luann would be nervous about that if she could think about anything else other than how much her hand hurts right now.

"Sorry. It's just… this is my favorite part of dealing with all clients. Mrs. Morrow, I am delighted to inform you that you're pregnant."

"Fuck," Gemma breathes, as soon as she hears the 'diagnosis'. She drops Luann's hand so that she could lean back onto her hands and looks up to the ceiling, trying desperately not curse her husband to hell for knocking her up. There were so many wrongs with this, she can't even rake her brain into finding a right.

"Holy shit," Luann and Colleen exclaim, both of their eyes widening in either excitement or shock.

"That's great, babe! You're gonna be a mommy!" Colleen continues, grinning broadly. Colleen was the only one of the three girls that looked forward to the day that her husband decided to settle down with some little tikes, and was conveniently the only one married to a man that didn't want kids yet.

"Oh," Dr. Thoms says, ignoring the bubbly woman and sending a worried glance to her patient. "I take it the baby wasn't planned, then?"

"No, no it wasn't," Gemma sighs, giving a nervous laugh. "I'm only nineteen - we live in a goddamned _apartment_. I _can't_ have a kid yet. I can't."

Dr. Thoms nods in understanding and pushes her glasses up on her nose, her brows furrowing for a moment. Taking her clipboard, she sits on the small rolling stool and rolls it so that she's directly in the middle of Gemma and her friends with her body angled towards Gemma.

"There's no need to be distressed, ma'am," the young girl says. "There are plenty of options out there for you. Abortion is one, although personally I don't recommend it. With your heart condition, there is a good chance you could go into shock or have a heart attack. There's also adoption, but that would mean carrying your child to full-term - and there's a slim but very present chance that your baby won't live past birth with the heart defect and then you wouldn't be able to fulfill your promises to the adopting parents. All of these options are viable and at your disposal, but the best option is simply to go full-term with your child and raise it yourself."

Gemma sits there for a moment, processing everything she's hearing. The doctor was right - the best case scenario here was for her to go ahead with having and raising her child. That doesn't mean she would automatically go with the best case scenario - she couldn't possibly bring kids into the world that she lived in. Especially not right now - when her husband came home covered in blood every night and her biggest worry was whether or not she'd be widowed by the end of the night.

Vulnerability was liability and a baby would be a vulnerability not only to her and her husband, but the Club. There's no doubt word that the President of SAMCRO was having a kid would spread, and then she and the child would become a prime target for their enemies. People targeted weakness, and a baby was a definite weakness.

And that's _only_ if the kid survived past birth. Her heart condition had run in the family for a long time - most women in her family had one or two children that died to it. Nathaniel had been the child that succumbed to it for her mother. And her grandmother had two twin boys that died at the same time due to the disease. It was no secret what happened to Madock women and babies. She couldn't let a kid live in the constant fear of whether or not it's condition was going to act up and it was going to die in a few days. She'd gone eighteen years of her life wondering why the hell her ancestors did it - why her _mother_ did it. She wouldn't - no she _couldn't_ \- allow any child to wonder that as well.

"A baby," Luann breathes from beside the doctor drawing her out of her thoughts. Gemma looks to her, her eyebrow quirked slightly.

"It's not safe, Lu. I can't do that to Clay… I can't do that to myself," she admits weakly.

"It's not-" Colleen cuts herself off, warily glancing at the doctor. "Can we have a moment?"

"Of course you can," Dr. Thoms says, standing and pushing the stool back to where it was originally sitting. "I have a few other patients to tend to, so I'll be back in about thirty minutes. When I return, I'll bring your prescription for prenatal vitamins and a pamphlet for safe mothering along. I also have a few questions to ask, so I'll have to bring the paperwork for that as well. Just to let you all know, I'll be your doctor for the duration of Gemma's pregnancy."

The trio of girls simultaneously thank the doctor, and she smiles warmly at them before gathering her clipboard and slipping out of the room. Luann and Colleen wait until the door is firmly closed before they turn to glare at their best friend.

"It's _not_ going to die, Gemma," Colleen soothes. "It'll be fine. You know we'll do everything in our power to keep them safe - not just me, and Lu, and Clay, but everyone in SAMCRO and at the Clubhouse. This kid will be their _life_."

"That is _only_ if it makes it past birth. Or have you already forgotten about the hole in my heart?" she asks rhetorically. "I cannot - in good conscience - bring an infant into the world."

"Then screw your conscience and think about Clay," Luann snaps, fed up with her pessimistic attitude for the day. She'd taken as much of it as possible because she knew Gemma had a natural fear of hospitals and also because she knew what it was like to have a fluctuating hormonal imbalance. But now she's looking for Gemma to have at least _some_ optimism. "What if he wants a child? You really going to take that away from him?"

Gemma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the soft flesh there. The blonde had an extremely good point - both she and her husband may still be young, but that didn't mean they didn't want a family. They'd had the discussion a handful of times - once after he proposed, a few times after their wedding, and a couple more times after their friend's weddings. At first, she'd made him wait until she was _sure_ she wouldn't be a bridesmaid again - she didn't want to look fat and swollen while all her friends looked drop dead gorgeous in the designer gowns - and now she had decided to make him wait until she was at _least_ twenty-five. After all, she was still a teen _technically_. She wanted to live a little first.

But… she could see the _eagerness_ in her husband's eyes. She could see the way he lit up around her Colleen's abundance of nieces and nephews, or the way his eyes strayed a little too long when he saw a four-wheeled pram rolling down the sidewalks. Gemma knows in her heart of hearts that he'll be overjoyed when he hears the news, and the thought that she'd even _briefly_ considered adoption or _abortion…_ that would crush him.

Even despite the chance their enemies would take advantage of the baby, use it as a playing chip in some sort of game… or that they might not even be parents for more than a handful of hours past birth. Clay would want to try. She knows that Clay wouldn't give up until the last breath left that poor kid's body - and maybe not even then. And now, thinking about it, she feels guilty for not even giving the child a chance.

Blinking away tears that had begun to brim in her eyelids, Gemma gives a quiet laugh before saying, "C'mon. My husband needs to know he's gonna be a different type of daddy."


	5. Announcements pt II

**Clarence 'Clay' Morrow  
Part II**

" _... Hi, you've got my voicemail. If it's important, try me again or try my husband. If it's not, just leave a message_." Clay curses loudly for the umpteenth time that day, slamming the Clubhouse phone back onto the hook. He'd been trying Gemma's cellphone _all day_ \- on both of his cellphones, his friends phones, the Clubhouse and the Trager-Morrow landlines. Every time it went straight to voicemail - sometimes he'd leave one, sometimes he wouldn't.

He'd bent over backwards all afternoon - which was quickly dripping into the evening - trying to find her - but she had simply vanished on him. According to Luann and Colleen - she wasn't with them. She wasn't at the apartment, she wasn't at the nail salon or getting her hair touched up… there wasn't very many places she liked hang out at besides the Clubhouse and Trager-Morrow. It was like she fell off the earth.

Clay boots wear into the hardwood floors of the Clubhouse as he paces and tries her again on his cell - desperate for her to pick up. He'd been reluctant to leave her that morning, because it was clear she was sick and he wanted to be home to look after her - but his brothers needed him. There had been so much blood, so many injured… he'd been kept busy, doing what he can to salvage his soldiers. He'd tried calling and checking up on her in the morning, but hadn't been worried when she hadn't picked up before - when Gemma was sick, she tended to sleep a lot.

" _... Hi, you've got my voicemail. If it's important, try me again or try my husband. If it's not, just leave a message_."

Another stream of obscenities leave his mouth. Tig and Otto had seen how out of it he was with worry over his wife, so they each sent their wives over - Luann had to leave her assistant director in charge, and Colleen had to abandon her yoga classes, but they did as told. That has eased things up until he could get some more free time, but when he talked to both girls recently, they said last they saw - Gemma was fine. She was sitting in bed, eating cold cereal, drinking liquor and watching the trashy daytime television that came on in the morning. That _sounded_ like something a sick Gemma would do - daytime television was her guilty pleasure.

" _... Hi, you've got my voicemail. If it's important, try me again or try my husband. If it's not, just leave a message_."

Clay tosses the prepaid phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. He's breathing hard now - angry with himself for letting her out of his sight, angry with the Mayans for being such a fucking distraction, angry with-

"Hey, hey, look - it's Colleen's truck. She'll know where to find Gemma," Tig says, peering through the Clubhouse curtains. Like Clay, he's covered in the sticky of Otto's, Piney's and the prospects, Horowitz' blood. All of the members that were able to stand on two solid feet were covered in their brother's' blood - they'd all pitched in to help Chibs save their friend's lives.

Clay continues pacing - knowing that if he went out and attacked Colleen with shouting and interrogations, with all the raised tensions that had been up that day, he'd get into a fight with her husband. Tig slumps down into the leather couch in front of the curtain, staring at his best friend.

"You think… the Mayans…?"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ ," Clay snarls. He wouldn't consider it. If the Mayans had anything to do with something happening to his wife, he would not only mow their California charters over - he would mow the entire, international MC over. He wouldn't stop until it was taboo to even whisper the word 'Mayan'.

He whips around just as the Clubhouse door is pushed open, and is surprised to find Gemma at the very front of the trio of girls - smiling warmly. He takes her in - assessing her body for cuts, bruises, blood, anything that might give way to the notion that she was in danger. But she's fine - she even looks less _sick_ than she did earlier. He breathes a sigh of relief and rushes towards her, framing her face with his bloodied hands and kissing her breathless.

Gemma pulls away, shock and worry in her hazel eyes. She does the same thing he had done - assesses him. He's covered from head-to-toe in blood and grime - it's stained on his face, filthing with cuts he may have received from a scuffle he'd gotten into with the President. His shirt and jeans are soaked in his friend's, enemies, and even some of his own blood - his cut long since discarded so that it would survive the blood spray, knives, and dirt. And of course his boots are caked with it.

What has her freaking out is his hands. Up until twenty minutes ago, Clay had been elbow deep in a wound Otto had acquired during the fight - a bullet wound on his thigh that had begun spurting blood and wouldn't stop. Clay had been working as a stopper while simultaneously digging the slug out of his thigh. His arms were covered in the man's blood, but he'd put a prospect on the job of stopping the blood while he came to search for his wife.

"What the fuck? Are you hurt?" she asks, trying to pull away.

"I'm fine, right now. There are guys who have it much worse. What about you - why haven't you been answering my calls? Huh?" he demands. "If you're mad at me, that's fine, but you need to stay in touch with someone-"

"I wanted to surprise you," she blurts. Clay frowns - surprise? What could she surprise him with right now that he could need? Or at least, in front of their friends?

He turns to look to Colleen and Luann for explanation, but they're both distracted. Luann is disappearing down the hallway - guided by a newly patched in member by the name of Newt. He makes a mental note to catch up with her later - explain what's happening, see if she knows any connections at St. Thomas that would be willing to help him and a few others out.

Gemma pulls away from him and Clay's hands fall limply to their sides - not knowing what to do now that he had gotten her back. He wasn't busy working with Otto, and he wasn't busy looking for her. He could relax - things were still extremely shitty, but they weren't as shitty as they had been ten minutes ago.

She digs around in her purse for a little while before coming up with a slip of paperwork. She examines the paper with a small, faint smile before handing it over to him.

"I can't get a picture for another six weeks so I got the next best thing," she adds, before releasing her grip on the paper. Clay stares at her for a few moments longer - there's blood smeared on each of her cheeks, but she's still his Gem - before glancing down at the photo.

For a moment, the words blur together and he has to blink rapidly to get them to focus. When they do, the words hit him like a ton of rocks. It's the test results of a blood pregnancy test that was given at St. Thomas. The paper gives a general rundown of the pregnancy - six weeks in, so far healthy pregnancy, single infant. Each word makes Clay's chest constrict. Gemma's signature at the very top of the paper, where the mother was to put her name. Clay's name is written in her handwriting, above the father 'blank'. At the top, right hand corner - that day's date.

"You're pregnant?" he asks, blinking rapidly at the paper. Gemma nods her head and when he looks up at her, she's chewing on her bottom lip nervously. "Gemma…"

She opens her mouth to say something, but whatever it is goes unsaid because of her general shock. Clay falls to his knees in front of her, his bloodied hands running over the fabric of her t-shirt repeatedly. He stains the shirt, of course - his red handprints opaque against the white cloth of her blouse. But he doesn't care about ruining her shirt - he presses his ear against her stomach through the material, desperately hoping for the slightest hint of life.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" he asks tenderly, not daring to move an inch. He can feel Gemma's nails against scalp as her fingers run through the sweaty tendrils of his hair, and for that instant - the world disappears. It's just him and his wife - sharing a moment that they might never forget.

"I don't know for sure yet," she replies, her voice honey sweet to his ears. "but I think it's a boy. I've already named him, too - Jackson."

Clay peers up at her, and it delighted to find that she's beaming - her eyes are twinkling and slightly glassy, and her lips are stretched into a smile that he's sure he's matching.

"I love you, you know that right?" he asks, before turning back to her stomach. "I love you _both_."

The world comes back in then, interrupting and spoiling the moment. Newt touches Clay on the shoulder - drawing his attention away from Gemma.

"Clay, Luann's got a doctor friend up at the hospital - Doctor Remus Manning," the prospect says, and he's breathing hard. When Clay rises to his feet, he notices three fresh claw marks on Newt's cheek and realizes that the poor kid must've been the object of Luann's wrath. "She says she knows him because he's known for buying his DVDs directly from the actress."

Newt's cheeks burn, and he clears his throat awkwardly after. He had only been prospecting a few months - he still didn't know if he was allowed to refer to Luann's porn business, or the days when she made videos.

"What does he specialize in?"

"He's an andrologist, but he knows how to do operations - he used to do snuff operations for her director, Caruso," Newt informs. "Do you want me to give her the okay to call him?"

Clay spares a glance to Gemma, and she places her hands on his shoulder.

"Baby, I'm sorry-" he begins, but she swallows the apologies with a kiss. It's a tender, warm kiss, and Clay's heart skips a few beats during it. When she pulls away, there's a gentle yet firm expression of determination on her face, and she gives him an encouraging smile.

"Handle your business, baby. They need you. We can talk later."

Clay nods, although he's still reluctant to leave her. He gives her another kiss on the lips - although it's more of a peck, brief and chaste - before pulling and glancing down to her stomach. He places a hand over the cloth there, and she covers his hands with hers.

"See you later, Jax," he whispers, before turning and following Newt.


	6. Empty Womb Syndrome

**Otis 'Otto' Delaney  
Summary:** Empty Nest Syndrome is a feeling of loneliness or depression that occurs among parents after children grow up and leave home.  
But what about when there are no kids in the house in the first place? What about when you want children? What about when you feel envy, bitterness, and anger? What is it called then?  
Otto finds out.

Hunched over the bar, grinning wide, and toasting to his best friend's newest arrival, Otto suddenly feels a sharp pang of envy stab deep in his chest.

He had been getting that feeling for a long while now - he'd been silently coveting his fellow members and friends children for almost two years at this point, and the bitterness he was feeling was only getting worse. It seemed as if while the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club itself gained more of a reputation and became more recognized by other clubs, the members of the MC matured and rooted themselves. Every time Otto turned his head, another old lady was announcing a pregnancy or planning a baby shower for someone.

And Otto had felt the jealousy of it every time that someone new made an announcement and it wasn't his wife.

It happened first with little Jackson. The eight months leading up to his birth, he'd felt nothing but happiness for his brother - as a good friend should, of course. They'd celebrated almost every other night after Gemma told her husband about it - mostly out of genuine joy and excitement for when the little boy came into the world, but partially to rub it in Gemma's face that they could have alcohol and she couldn't. Everything had been good, Otto had felt nothing but radiance at the prospect of a new baby.

But the day Gemma's water broke… something inside of his mind _changed_.

He remembered Luann ringing him on the phone, her voice the very picture of panic as she said, _Gemma's going into labor. Tell Clay to get his ass to St. Thomas._ _ **Now**_ _._

But most importantly, he remembered that flicker of _jealousy_. It was there and gone before he could think too much about it at the time, but once he and Luann were safely home, it was _all_ he could think about. Mostly because he realized had been jealous of _Clay_. From the moment on the phone up until sitting there in the waiting room, waiting on the verdict on whether or not his nephew and best friend would be alright. He had wanted Luann to be in there, bringing the life _they_ created into the world. For just one nanosecond, he wished Luann and Gemma could switch lives.

It had been a year since Jackson's birth however, and he hadn't found himself being too jealous of his best friend's little family for awhile. No, there were other neighbors to covet. A prospect with a three-year-old daughter and another kid on the way, two members that got locked up on trumped charges - one with a pair of gorgeous twin girls, and the other with a pregnant wife living two states over. Every time someone wearing a cut strode into the Clubhouse, announcing their up and coming arrival, Otto felt that jealousy and hatred burn a little deeper in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't tell Luann about it though.

He knows he could - and that he probably _should_. Luann was all about communication - she had read a book on the reasons marriages tend to fail, and the biggest theme of the book was that married couples don't communicate well - and if there was a problem, she wanted her husband to be able to talk to her about it.

But he also knows it would never happen. Mostly because Luann isn't behind the camera yet, and there was no way he would let her do pregnancy fetish porn with his child in her womb. Otto knows better than to stop asking her to do videos as well - unlike Gemma and Colleen, who were content to sit back and take care of the house and be _good old ladies_ , Luann wanted to be able to make her own money. She didn't like the idea of depending on her husband, and she enjoyed the cash that making videos brought in. There was no way she'd put working on hold for nine months to give birth to a baby - no matter how much he wanted it.

Besides - it would be unfair to ask her to drop everything in her life just to appease _his_ wants. Especially considering that she had dropped everything in New Jersey four years ago to run away with him - it'd be selfish to ask her to repeat history.

Still, as Otto sits there, listening to Clay tell Tig all the wonders of fatherhood - and the not-so-great parts too - he can't help but feel angry and _extremely_ envious.

"God - do either of you talk about anything else? You sound like pussies," Otto blurts suddenly, while Clay is the middle of his story. Both men to turn to look at him with raised eyebrows and extreme confusion - up until now, Otto had gone along with their conversations merrily. Even occasionally pitching in stories about his siblings from childhood.

Otto scoffs under their silent scrutinization, drums his fingers against the bar counter and lifts his glass of bourbon to his lips before he gruffs out, "Just sharin' a little truth with ya."

"Hey, douchetool," Tig begins, his tone suggesting he's already annoyed with the coming conversation before it's even begun. "Who crawled up your asshole and chewed on your scrotum?"

Clay snickers under his breath and Otto rolls his eyes - his grip tightening a bit on the tumbler. His lips turn down into a scowl, but he remains silent. He wasn't exactly known as the one to start fights - surprisingly enough, he was the brains behind most things - and even if he _was_ , it wasn't a good idea to go around trading blows with _Tig_ of all people.

After receiving no response from Otto, Tig shrugs his shoulders boredly. "If I were you, I'd just wait until Luann feels the time is right. Sitting here and stewing in envy is just going to piss _you_ off - especially if you're never going to tell her you want a kid. It doesn't matter, but whatever you do - don't take that shit out on _us. Dickweed._ "

Otto's scowl fades and his anger ebbs into surprise at his best friend's words. He stares to the curly haired man with obvious shock, but neither Tig nor Clay seem to be fazed by the estimation. If anything, they seem bored by the conversation - as if they'd rehearsed it a thousand times over, and could have it in their sleep.

"How'd you know-?"

"That you were being pissy over not being a daddy?" Tig teases, leaning heavily on the bar counter. "You're translucent, Otto. You sat there scowling at us for the entire conversation."

"As for your wifey issues - why don't you chip in to helping her set up her own porn studio?" Clay suggests, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "So _if_ she gets pregnant, she doesn't have to worry about it because she's behind the camera _anyways_. _And_ she doesn't have to stop making her own money, because she'll be producing and directing. It's a win-win."

Otto considers this for a moment. Clay was right - the worst case scenario was that her business couldn't get off it's feet, and she had to go back to working in front of the camera. But that would take at least one or two years to be able to evaluate - which is plenty time to cure his _empty womb syndrome_.

"Speaking of Luann…" Tig mutters, his eyes flitting to the cameras they'd only recently installed for protection. Luann, Gemma and Colleen are all making their way to the Clubhouse - bags filled to the brim with groceries in their arms. Gemma awkwardly tries to hoist Jackson onto her hip while simultaneously carrying in a few bags, and once Clay sees that he's up and out of his chair.

Tig and Otto watch on camera as he meets up with the girls - immediately plucking most of the bags from their arms and dropping a quick kiss to his son's forehead. The girls follow him inside, and Colleen briefly stops by the bar to give Tig a kiss on the cheek before making a beeline for the kitchen.

Otto can't help but stare at her belly while he can - at the slightly curve slowly beginning to form beneath her black t-shirt. For some reason, all he can think about is how in a few months that small curve will be an entire girth. He wonders if Luann would be able to handle that type of weight… she had a small frame, and he'd seen Gemma's belly in her final month of pregnancy. Gemma had barely been able to handle it - and she had a taller figure than his wife did. Maybe they _didn't_ need kids.

Otto is pulled away from that thought by Luann sidling up to the barstool next to him and wrapping her arms around his midsection from behind.

"Thanks for the help with the groceries, ya big oaf," she teases, resting her chin on his shoulder. Otto laughs into his bourbon and swivels around the stool so he can kiss her.

"No problem - I just do what I can to help," he says, eliciting a girlish giggle from her. Luann drapes her arms lazily over his shoulders and Otto maneuvers her so that she's standing directly between his legs. When they kiss again, it's passionate bordering a little on pornographic and Otto almost forgets about the thing he wants to talk to her about.

Beside them, Tig makes a disgusted gagging sound and Clay rolls his eyes.

"C'mon guys," he says, holding up Jackson for them to see. The one-year-old kicks his legs in the air wildly, his tiny little sock feet jerking awkwardly around. Three of the fingers from his right hand are shoved in his mouth, and his blue eyes stare directly at Otto and Luann - who are trying to repress their laughter. "Keep it PG - I got my kid here."

"How many times have I told you _not_ to hold him like that?!" Gemma's voice rings from the kitchen.

"You can't even see me!" Clay calls back indignantly.

"You're holding him in the air with your hands under his arms knowing damn well that he's _extremely ticklish_ and if he starts wiggling around, you could drop him!" Clay narrows his eyes in her direction and mutters something about x-ray vision before he settles Jackson back into his lap - removing the baby's fingers from his mouth and replacing them with a set of colorful plastic keys.

"And _that_ is why I don't want kids," Luann tuts. "I read that they cause extreme marital issues in a once happy couple. I definitely don't want that for me and Otto."

While Clay defends his marriage - " _We do_ _ **not**_ _, have marital issues, Luann."_ \- Otto's heart and stomach simultaneously sink to his feet. She didn't want kids - plain and simple. It wasn't just her work getting in the way, it wasn't just her need to be independant preventing her from settling down. She simply did not want children.

And Otto loves her more than he loves the idea of being a father. He wouldn't dare bring up something in an accidental guilt trip, nor would he force her to do something she doesn't want. He'd heard stories of postpartum depression coming from women giving birth to babies they didn't want, and he wouldn't subject his wife to any of that.

Sensing the obvious tension Luann's admission has caused, Tig leans across the bar and gives his friend a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. Otto ignores him however - choosing instead to watch Luann interact with Jackson.

He wouldn't have a son or daughter, and that was fine. He would take what he could get and be satisfied.

After all, he got lucky and married the porn star.


	7. Fatherly Concern

**Clarence 'Clay' Morrow  
Summary: **He has every right to be a little bit protective. For god's sakes, it's his _son_.

"Honey, how would you feel if we invited your parents to take Jax trick-or-treating?"

That one sentence could have possibly shattered Clay Morrow's entire illusion of reality, if he wasn't careful. It was a chilly October evening, and Clay was busy at the kitchen table - carving ghoulish faces into pumpkins to set outside on their porch. Gemma was at the stove - Jackson perched on her hip and threading blonde strands of hair through the hoops of her earrings - stirring the stew she'd made specifically for the family dinner occurring that night.

If she weren't actually considering bringing his asshole parents around his one-year-old child, Clay would say that Gemma never looked more gorgeous than in that moment.

"What?" he sputters, once his tongue catches up to his thoughts. "Not no, but _hell_ no. Why the _fuck_ would I want to do that?"

Gemma frowns and brings the soup ladle to her lips, blowing gently before tasting it. Her frown deepens as she reaches into the cabinet for a spice, but he doesn't think the taste of her soup is what has her making that face.

" _Because_ , we have that Adult Costume party that Luann's director is hosting," she reminds. Clay makes a small 'o' with his mouth. That was right - the sexy costume party. They couldn't exactly take Jackson there - there was no way they were taking their baby around drugs, alcohol, and the raunchy adult themes that would be there. It was fine at the Clubhouse, because that was family and they knew to be courteous. This would be a bunch of strangers. "I would ask Mary and Piney to babysit again, but they're going to the party too and Jax just can't go stay with Mary's parents like Opie is. _Neeta_ is taking her kids to Stockton to go trick-or-treating, and I'm not going to let Jackson go to Stockton with a bunch of strangers. I know your parents live in Eureka - it wouldn't be so bad to let Jax go stay there for a weekend… would it?"

"Why can't they stay with _your_ parents? Rose and Nate live _right_ on the outskirts of Charming," Clay points out. Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Because, my mother explicitly told me she wants nothing to with me, you or my bastard child," Gemma scoffs. Clay narrows his eyes at her as she turns the heat down on the soup and heads over to where he sits at the table. "Besides, I thought you said you and your parents reconciled."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I want my son around them," he mutters, stabbing into the pumpkin again. Gemma rolls her eyes again and shifts Jackson around so that he's facing Clay while sitting in her lap. The baby reaches blindly for one of the carving tools Clay had been using, and his father quickly snatches the sharp tools away from his grasp.

"Then you want to cancel the party? Clay, Luann and I have spent the _past two months_ helping Ricarlo put this party on - I can't just _not_ go. _You_ can skip out on going, but then you'll have to let me go to a party with a ton of pornstar actors and recruiters, wearing this skimpy police officers costume," she points out. "You never know, maybe I'll get a good filming gig."

"Your son is less important than a party?" Clay scoffs, reaching across and tickling Jackson's stomach. The blonde giggles and kicks in his mother's lap, and Clay grins at him.

"No, if it were something more serious, I would drop this party like a hot potato," she explains, slightly hurt that he would even stoop that low. "But, it's just trick-or-treating. That's it. We drop him off Saturday evening, and then Sunday morning we pick him up before it's time for his afternoon nap. _And_ , doesn't your sister still live there? If you don't trust your parents, at least trust her."

Clay sighs and runs a finger along his son's cheek, smearing some pumpkin pulp there. Jackson giggles again and reaches for his father, bouncing happily in Gemma's lap.

"I don't know, baby," he murmurs, taking a towel and wiping the pulp from his son's face. As soon as the napkin is discarded, he accepts his son into his arms. Jackson snuggles into his father and Clay grips the cloth of his onesie.

"Please, Clay. We both could use the break - we've been at his hip since birth, and I don't remember the last time I had a drink. Could we please just let your parents - or your sister - babysit for a weekend? _Please_?" Gemma is very provocative with her pleading - her hazel eyes wide, and her lips forming a plump pout that he wants to kiss away. Jackson - completely unaware of what's happening - gurgles and slaps his hand against the table - sending pulp and seeds flying everywhere.

The mess hits Clay in the face and gets into Gemma's hair, but Jackson doesn't seem to notice that he's caused trouble. He laughs merrily and goes back to slapping the table, causing an even bigger problem than the one before.

"Damnit, Jax," Clay mutters, handing his son back to Gemma so he can clean up the mess. Gemma raises an 'I-told-you-so' eyebrow as she uses one hand to pick pumpkin seeds out of her hair, and Clay sighs. "Fine babe. _One weekend_."

* * *

Clay's parents live an house that just barely misses the mark of being a mansion. Gemma herself came from a nice home, but she's never seen a house that big and elegant. Judging from the rows of windows, there are at _least_ four stories. Two giant oak trees shroud the perfectly mowed lawn, and there's even a fountain made from the statue of a _baby_. She's a bit surprised - the way Clay always talked about his parents, they were abusive monsters that kept children chained up in their rooms and fed them a square of stale bread once a day.

Or, maybe they were, and Gemma was just judging based on outward appearances.

Clay himself is struggling with the fact that he's actually walking up this path again. When he'd left for the military all those years ago, he thought he'd never have to return to this place again. And after his parents and siblings left his wedding that night, he didn't think he'd ever _see them_ again. He'd never even considered his son meeting his parents - up until three weeks ago, when Gemma brought it up, the concept had been so foreign to him.

When Gemma leans forward to ring the doorbell, Clay clutches his son tighter to his chest. He smooths down his son's costume - an adorable little bumblebee, according to Colleen and Luann - and almost considers telling Gemma to forget it. But then the door swings open.

Clay has never been more grateful for his little sister than in that moment. Florence Morrow comes to the door instead of either of his parents, and it's possibly the greatest moment of relief he's ever experienced.

Florence's eyes immediately widen at the sight of her brother, and she giggles in excitement before giving him a quick side-hug.

"Clarence! I didn't think you were serious when you said you were gonna let little Jackson stay here," she admits sheepishly, curling a blonde strand of her hair around her finger. Gemma snickers at the use of his full name and he uses his free hand to pinch her side.

"It's _just_ for tonight and tomorrow morning," he says pointedly, glaring at his wife. Gemma sticks her tongue out at him and hands over the baby bag. Florence eagerly swings the bag over her shoulder and then extends her hands for Jackson.

Clay brings his son closer to his chest, and looks between Gemma and his little sister. He realizes suddenly that he's scared to let his baby out of his sight.

He was able to leave his child when it came to the Club and Club business, but only because he knew Gemma had him - and if she didn't, Mary or Neeta _did_. People that he trusted, and people he knew wouldn't take his son away from him if the chance rose. He also always knew dropping in and seeing his son was a ten minute drive away at all times - not the three hours it was from Charming to Eureka.

It terrifies him that his son will be in an entirely different city than he is, even if it's only for one night.

Then suddenly, a thought so chilling and terrifying that it makes him blanche hits him. His mother had always told him he'd never amount to shit when he was a kid - that she hoped he never bred because she didn't want someone in the image of him walking freely around Earth, polluting the air with their arrogance and stupidity. There's the very real possibility that she meant every word of it. And if that's true… if she didn't see him as a fit human being to raise a child…

"Florence could you give us a minute?" Gemma asks kindly, seeing the panic bubble up in her husband's eyes. Florence looks between the couple before shrugging and taking the baby bag inside the house. "Clay, baby, what's wrong?"

"They're gonna take him from me. How are you not panicking? They're gonna take our son, Gem," he growls, leaning against the banister on the porch. Jackson, sensing the tension, begins to whine and Gemma immediately reaches for him. Clay snatches away from her, and plops down on the porch swing - rocking Jackson gently back into peace.

"Clay, _stop it_ ," Gemma snaps, fed up with his paranoia. " _No one_ is taking our child - I'll kick ass and draw blood before I let it happen. It's one night. They're gonna take him to get candy-"

"Why does a baby need candy anyways? He's still on soft foods!" he asks incredulously. Gemma sighs and goes to sit next to him on the porch swing. She presses against his side, leans her head on her shoulder and places her hand on his knee.

"Baby, it's the principle of it. Of course he doesn't _need_ candy - I don't even know what we're gonna do with the candy he gets. But _we_ need a _break_. I love our son to death, both you and him are my entire world. But the only time we've had away from him since my giving birth was Otto's birthday party - and that was when he was barely a few weeks. Let's just have a good time - for one night - before we go back to being parents, alright?"

Clay stops rocking the swing as he considers this. He hadn't really thought about it much - he'd been so caught up in his fears and anxiety that he hadn't considered Gemma's probable exhaustion. She was a full-time mother - the majority of her time was spent with an infant, especially since Clay was rarely at home during the day. And even for someone as mature and accepting as Gemma, she was still only twenty. She still had the urge to have a little fun every now and then, and who was he to deny her that indulgence? Especially since she was a damn good mother and wife - she put all of her energy into making sure Jackson and Clay were happy and healthy at all times.

Relenting, Clay gives Jackson a gentle kiss on the forehead before he hands the baby over to Gemma. She smiles at Clay and gives him a gentle peck on the corner of his mouth.

"One night, baby. We can do this," she encourages, before disappearing into the house. She returns after about ten minutes, followed by Florence who has Jackson on her hip. Speaking of whom, he plays with the tassles on her princess cap eagerly and occasionally bounces in her arms - giving her a nudge to the ribs.

"Don't worry Clarence," Florence assures. "Mom and Dad don't even know he's here, and they won't know for sometime. They're out of town for the next two months."

Clay can't help but feel the relief hit him like a pound of bricks. There was no reason for him not to believe his sister - even in his childhood, his parents would randomly go off for weeks or months on end and leave them home alone. It was very plausible that she wasn't just making things up to put his mind at ease.

Jackson would be safe.

"See, Clay?" Gemma teases, lacing her fingers with his and pulling him away from the porch. He waves at Florence and Jackson a final time before watching them disappear into the house. "There is nothing for you to worry about."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he huffs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Still… I have every right to have a little fatherly concern."

"Of _course_ you do, baby."


	8. Lockdown

**Otis 'Otto' Delaney** **  
Summary:** Gemma isn't the only 'stubborn old bitch' around these parts.

Otto watches in annoyance as Luann crosses her arms over her chest stubbornly and turns her nose in the air. She wasn't even going to bother justifying her husband's idiotic suggestion with a rebuttal.

"Luann, it's for your safety," Otto says impatiently, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leans comfortably against his bike, his foot planted firmly on either side of hers and his hands resting gently on her waist. Before he'd brought up his so-called 'stupid idea', they'd been in a lovely heated session of kissing - enjoying the small break she had before she had to get back to work. Now that Luann was behind the camera - producing, directing, all the technical stuff of the porn business - kissing her didn't leave a sour taste in his mouth anymore. He didn't think about all the guys - and girls - she'd been kissing before him that day, and he was able to focus on more important parts of their relationship.

Like keeping her alive.

She scoffs in response and turns her head away again, but this time Otto is a little more than fed-up. Grabbing her by the chin, he turns her head so that she's facing him. Fury-filled oceanic blue eyes lock onto gentle, urging sky blue ones, and this time she doesn't try to look away.

"Luann, this isn't a matter of 'yes' or 'no', this is a matter of are you willing or not? 'Cause you're coming either way, end of discussion."

"Two weeks away from work, Otto? Are you fucking kidding me? You had to know the answer before you asked," she snaps, attempting to snatch away from him. Otto tightens his grip on her waist and pulls her closer - briefly reaching up and tucking a few honey colored tendrils behind her ear. Despite herself, his wife leans into the touch.

"It's for the best, Lu. I need to know you're safe before we handle this shit. It's hot right now, with the Club and the Mayans. I can't go out guns blazing without making sure my wife and child are safe," he says the last part by running his thumb over her still-flat stomach.

Otto knows that if this had happened a month earlier, he would've been more lenient. Let her stay at work with a Prospect escort, and then she could spend nights at the Clubhouse - that would be fine. But they'd just found out three weeks ago she was six weeks along with his baby, and he couldn't risk some dirty, uninformed Mayans running a drive-by on CaraCara - especially since she was carrying their first child. He hates to admit it, but he'd rather it be anyone else but his wife and baby.

"Don't do that," she whispers, pushing his hand away. There's no malice in her voice, but he can see that she resented the action. "Don't use the kid against me. That's not fair."

"It is though, isn't it? You're being selfish and not thinking of the baby - I have every right to call you out on that," he growls, knowing that if he pushes her just enough and pulls at just the right moment, she'll cave in. Just as expected, her face morphs from one of indignance into one of absolute fury. Immediately, she snatches completely away from him and begins to storm off. Otto pushes off his bike and grabs her arm, turning her around so that she'll face him.

He hears the slap crack through the warm July air before he feels it against his face. As a reflex, he drops her arm and brings his hand to his cheek.

"Otto," she whispers, once she realizes what she's done. Luann takes a gentle step towards him and slowly peels his hand away from his face. She winces at the bruise already freshly forming on his cheek, and begins to worry at her lower lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's fine, Luann," he sighs, working his jaw until the stinging in his face stops. He turns his best sad eyes on her, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his index finger. "Think about it, okay?"

Luann looks like she wants to say something else, but instead she closes her mouth and nods. He kisses the top of her forehead before going back to his bike, swinging his legs over and willing himself not to look back at her.

He knows if he looks back at her, the guilt won't eat at her as much as it will if she thinks he's angry. And he desperately needs her to be at that Clubhouse.

* * *

Later that day, while waiting for Luann to arrive at the Clubhouse, Otto helps a few old ladies out by reading the little ones a story. He gathers them all at the Reaper table - despite Clay's indignant protests - and cracks open a book about a family of farm pigs.

However, when he's halfway through the book, there's a chorus of cheers coming from the front. Immediately, the kids attention is drawn away - especially Jackson and Opie, who seemed to always be chasing the next new interesting adventure - and they practically leap away from the Reaper table. After making sure Octaviano Jr.'s head is cushioned properly on his shoulder, Otto follows them out.

He's surprised to find Luann, surrounded by her two best friends and looking around as if she's searching for something. Her eyes land on him just as her godkids attack her legs, giggling and tugging at the hem of her shirt for attention.

"Didn't think you were coming," Otto says, when he's within hearing range. Luann shrugs.

"I thought about what you said. You were right. Here, I'd have protection and that's for the best. For me and the baby," she admits, although she says that last part awkwardly and quietly. Luann gives him a quick once over before her eyes land on his shoulder, where Junior is sleeping soundly. Immediately, she beams. "You look good when you're with kids. You look… happier."

"I feel happier," he grins. Luann is just about to open her mouth again when other Otto's wife, Cecelia, dips by briefly, taking her newborn off his hands. Otto can't help but feel a gentle twang of emptiness and cold where Juniors' small frame once rested against his chest.

"Don't get any ideas, I've already named this one so he's already mine," she laughs warmly. Looking down, she notices Junior's chocolate colored eyes slowly start to blink open. "and he's gonna start crying in 3… 2… 1…"

As if on a rehearsed cue, Junior begins to whine before full out crying - the sharp wails drowning out the rest of the Clubhouse's white noise. Luann and Otto exchange confused and mildly awed looks, and Luann's hand nervously goes to her stomach.

"Okay, baby, I know. It's time to eat," Cecelia coos to her child, bouncing with him gently until she can tear away to go feed him. She looks between the soon-to-be parents and smirks at the awe in their eyes. "Second time mom. Don't worry, Lu. When you're popping out Little Delaney number two, this whole baby thing will make much more sense."

Junior's crying gets more insistent, and he balls his little hands into fists as if he was going to fight someone if he didn't eat soon. Otto chuckles at the idea while Cecelia kisses Luann on the cheek and disappears into one of the back rooms - probably to breastfeed in private.

"I'm not breastfeeding," Luann blurts, just as the thought pops into Otto's head - as if she's some sort of mindreader. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she shakes her head stubbornly. "Have you seen the tits on women who breastfeed? They're painfully huge. I mean-"

"Yes, yes they are," Tig replies from across the room. He's sitting at the bar, and there's a drink in his hand but his eyes are on Colleen, who's busy picking up the discarded toys all the children kept leaving behind. Her breasts almost spill out of her blouse every time she bends over, and Otto's best friend certainly seems to be enjoying the show.

"Does anyone in this place listen to their own conversations?" Otto asks pointedly, pulling Luann by the waist to a spot closer to the back of the room. Tig flips him a middle finger just as Clay shouts something about there being a Club meeting in ten, so Otto takes her by the hands and tries to have a private moment despite the chatter around them.

"Thanks for coming. It means a lot that you're here - even if it probably doesn't seem like it," he sighs. Luann shrugs limply and brings their hands up so she can place a gentle kiss to the back of his.

"Otto, I can see it in your eyes, y'know? Whenever you're around the kids, or even when we're alone and you're talking to my stomach as if this little jelly bean can hear you. You're not scared of fatherhood. You're scared that you're not going to make it to fatherhood," she whispers. Otto dips his head, tendrils of his blonde locks escaping from his ponytail.

He has no argument against that, because she hit the nail on the head. He wasn't scared of being a father - he eagerly looked forward to it. Every moment of waking day was spent thinking about all the things he'd do with his child once it was born, all the toys he would buy and spoil them with.

He was scared of there being some sort of complication.

With Jackson, he'd been there to reassure Clay as the doctors told him that his son might not make it past the delivery room - and if he did, he might not live to see adulthood. Otto had felt that fear tightening in his chest even though the baby wasn't his - he didn't think he could even come close to imagining the pain he'd experience if it had been his son.

It had happened again with Colleen and the twins - he'd stayed awake with Tig for damn near twenty hours as they waited with bated breath to find out if Tig was going to remain a husband. Again, Otto felt that constriction in his chest - it only getting worse when the doctors finally stepped out of the room with somber faces, and loosening up when he saw Colleen alive, and holding two baby girls that were going to live.

"Baby?" Luann asks, drawing him gently away from his thoughts. "Otto, it's okay to be scared. I am too - hell, I'm gonna be pushing a baby the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a golf ball and I can only imagine the pain of that. But you have to stop smothering me. This time, since things are so bad with the Club and the Mayans, I'll understand. But no more sending prospects to check on me at work and no more calling me every hour on the hour to make sure I'm okay. That has to stop. I don't have a congenital heart defect, and failed pregnancies don't run in my family. I'm going to give birth to healthy baby and it's going to be alright."

"I know. I know," he assures. "Luann, I trust that you're going to do everything to protect this child from now until the day we die. It's just… I want that extra mile of comfort, and I achieve that when I-"

Clay interrupts Otto's sentence, shouting for the Sons to gather in Church. It seems as if he wants them immediately, as even those that tend to linger behind grumble and head towards the room. Otto dares a tentative glance over his shoulder before rising - no one was really up for pissing Clay off today, because the man was already on edge. He had to go.

"We'll finish this conversation some other time, okay?" he mutters, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Okay, baby. I'll be here," she says, and there's something behind her words that tells him she'd rather not be. Wincing Otto goes to open his mouth, but Tig shouts for him to get a move on, so he drops a kiss to her cheek and rushes off.

Luann drops back into the booth and leans her chin on the heel of her hand.

It was going to be quite the two weeks.


End file.
